Cooking, Cleaning & CoExistence
by vcg73
Summary: Kurt holds the firm belief that chores should be a shared responsibility when you're part of a family. Finn . . . not so much.


Wow, okay, so I haven't written fanfic in about 6 months. Villelumiere made a request and gave me a few suggestions, so here's me trying to get back up on the horse! Her first prompt was: "How is life in the Hudson-Hummel house?" This question led me to wonder how Finn went from cooking shoes and sandwiches in the Foreman grill in "Grilled Cheesus", to being able to whip up a fancy pasta and pound cake dinner for Rachel in "The First Time."

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"Finn! What in holy hell is that _smell_?"

Kurt pinched his nose shut, marching angrily toward his step-brother's bedroom. The door was cracked open a couple of inches; far enough to allow an eye-watering stench to waft out into their shared upstairs hallway.

Finn looked up from his X-Box controller, his eyebrows scrunching in confusion. "What are you talking about, dude? I don't smell anything."

Cautiously, Kurt lowered his hand and took a sniff, only to clamp his fingers back into place almost immediately, a gagging noise escaping his throat. "Oh my God, Finn! Are you kidding me? Clearly whatever it is must have already killed off your olfactory glands. This room smells like something died in it!"

A look of insult combined with vague concern flickered over the taller boy's face as he put his game controller down and walked over to join him. Inhaling deeply, he shrugged. "There might be a couple of old gym socks in here somewhere. Maybe a pair of dirty jeans. Oh, I bet you're smelling my practice jersey from last weekend. Coach made us do double-downs and I got pretty sweaty." He shrugged again. "Sorry, man. Mom hasn't done my laundry this week."

Kurt gave him a disbelieving look. "Wait a minute. Are you telling me that you expect Carole to gather up all of your dirty clothes for you? _And_ she does your laundry?"

"Uh . . . yeah?" he replied. "So what?"

"Finn, you're nearly eighteen years old," Kurt said, planting one fist on his hip, which looked pretty funny considering that his other hand was still clutching his offended nose.

Finn struggled not to smile when Kurt's voice came out a hilarious nasally honk instead of the imperious tone he was probably going for.

"You don't know how to cook outside of the occasional grilled-cheese sandwich, your idea of housecleaning is stashing yesterday's newspaper under the sofa, our bathroom could double for a swamp every time you've taken a shower in there, and now you're telling me that you don't even pick up your own laundry?"

Sensing that this was not a rhetorical question, Finn had the grace to look a little guilty. "My mom's always done that kind of stuff for me, man. She's really good at it."

Kurt finally lowered his hand from his face, looking as though he was attempting to breathe through his mouth and not puke, and crossed both arms over his chest, glowering darkly at his brother. "Just because she's good at it doesn't mean that you should expect her to do it all the time. The _reason_ she's good at doing household chores is that she's _been_ doing them every single day, for the both of you, for nearly 18 years!" His voice was getting higher and shriller with every sentence. "On top of which, she has held down a full-time job, taken night-classes at the Community College, volunteered for a number of your school functions, and is _now_ helping take care of my dad and me!"

Finn shifted, feeling uncomfortable. When it was all spelled out like that, it did sound kinda bad. "Well, what about that?" he tried defensively. "Like you say, she takes care of you too! And you're the only one out of all of us who doesn't have a job outside of school. Why don't _you_ help my mom out around here?"

Kurt's blue eyes suddenly shifted to an icy gray, causing Finn to mumble a soft, "_aw, shit_," as the shorter boy drew himself up to his full height, chin tilting and attitude rising until he suddenly seemed a good foot taller than he had been a moment before.

"I do, Finn," Kurt said, his voice dangerously soft. "And for your information, I _had_ a job up right up until I went to Dalton last year, working for my dad. It was a job I had held for nearly three years, but between the long commute and the extra homework, Dad didn't want me to worry about helping out at the garage any more on top of it. By the time I came back to McKinley, _you_ had taken over my position. Not that I objected to that, mind you. It works out well for all of us. I've never aspired to become a professional mechanic, my dad likes your work and you seem pretty happy with the job."

"Yeah, I like it," Finn agreed mildly, not quite sure if he was about to get bitched out for stealing too much of Burt's attention again or not.

Kurt nodded sharply. "Glad to hear it. My point is, all the time that I held that job, I was also doing the cooking and cleaning and laundry for both of us every day. Dad did the dishes, home maintenance and vacuuming. It was a partnership, we were a family and we shared the responsibility that comes with that. After you and Carole became a part of the family, she and I agreed to split up the chores, including the ones Dad had to give up when he got sick last year. What have you done?"

Finn chewed his lip, not knowing what to say. He had noticed, dimly, that Kurt cooked dinner a lot. He'd just figured that was because he was good at it, or that maybe gay dudes just liked to cook or something. The house work had never been given a thought. The place was always just . . . clean. That was normal, right? He _had_ known that Kurt did his own laundry, 'cause seriously, who else would have the guts to touch his clothes? But it hadn't really occurred to Finn that anybody other than Mom should do the rest. After all, that's what moms did! Except . . . maybe they shouldn't have to all the time?

"I guess I never thought about it," he admitted.

The irritated expression softened. "You should," Kurt said. "Seriously. What do you think will happen when you move out on your own? Go to college, or get a job and move into a place of your own? Do you want nothing but fast food, filthy clothes and a pigsty to live in? And if you say that you figured you'd just get married and let your wife handle all of that, I swear I'm going to strangle you."

Finn's open mouth snapped shut. "Um, n-no, I wasn't gonna say that," he stuttered, earning himself a raised eyebrow from his brother.

"You need to learn, Finn. It wouldn't hurt you to show Carole that you appreciate all the things she does for you by lightening her load a bit. Start by cleaning this room up, before you grow some kind of moldy science experiment that comes to life and kills us all in the night."

Finn sighed. "Yeah, I guess."

"And start doing your own laundry. I'll teach you how the washing machine works. Pitch in on the household stuff. I'm not saying you have to take over everything; just dust the furniture or vacuum the carpets every couple of days. Mop the kitchen floor and sponge off the counters when you've spilled food and soda all over the place. Stop leaving water and wet towels all over the bathroom. And yes, that one is more for my sake than your mom's. I almost killed myself slipping on wet tiles yesterday morning."

"Sorry," he said honestly. He had been thinking about his after-school date with Rachel while he got ready for the day and just sort of forgot everything else.

"As for your mom, I think it would really impress her if you could learn to cook a few simple meals. Ooh, I know!" Kurt interrupted himself, a delighted look on his face that instantly made Finn feel wary. "Maybe you can take over the food prep for Friday night dinner this week! Dad and Carole won't be campaigning until Saturday morning, so it's the perfect chance to impress them. We have a lot of great recipe books with step-by-step directions, and I'd be glad to help you until you get the hang of it."

Shifting his weight from foot to foot, Finn glanced unhappily around his bedroom in order to avoid Kurt's eager gaze. He grimaced, noticing that the place actually had gotten kind of gross. Memories of a half-eaten order of jumbo chili-fries and a pizza box with a couple of leftover slices in it niggled at his memory. Had he ever pulled those out from under the bed after his video-game marathon with the guys last week? Hmmm. Best not mention that to Kurt. He could be a little sensitive about that stuff sometimes.

The problem was, all that cleanup sounded like an awful lot of work. Never mind the proposed cooking! It would really eat into his time, especially on top of homework and sports and glee and video games and dates, but now that Kurt had called him out on it, Finn could understand how he had probably been letting his mom down. He hated disappointing his mom, and letting her down meant letting Burt down. Lately, his step-father's approval had become really important to Finn. Kurt's too, not that he wanted to tell him that, and if Kurt could do all those things and still keep up with his after school activities, couldn't he?

But he didn't _want_ more chores! He already mowed the lawn once a week. Wasn't that enough?

"Just think how impressed Rachel will be if you learn to cook for your dates with her," Kurt added, smirking deviously when he saw Finn perk up at the suggestion. "You know, her two dads are pretty much the take-out kings of Western Ohio. A boyfriend who can cook is something that she'd probably consider sexy."

"Oh, fine," he sighed, posture drooping like a true martyr. "I'll do it."

Kurt clapped his hands. Then, a super-sweet expression, the one whose awesome evil powers could convince Finn to do just about anything, came over his face. Finn could swear his eyes were actually glowing, going that creepy shade of mixed blue and gray that made him think of sparkly, mind-probing, alien eyes. "But first you're going to clean up your room, right? And deodorize it."

The silver mind-probe was clearly working, for Finn found himself nodding along and saying, "Sure, dude. Right away. Uh, I don't suppose you want to help me?"

Revulsion flickered over Kurt's face as he gingerly plucked a crusty tube-sock off the bedside lamp, holding it between his thumb and forefinger before flicking it away with a shudder. "No. I have a sudden urge to go take a long, hot, thoroughly exfoliating shower."

Before Finn could argue (or beg), Kurt turned on the heel of his favorite dove-gray Vivienne Westwood boots and stalked out of the room, leaving Finn wondering where he should begin. As he moved over to shut off the paused video game, a strong whiff of something nasty smacked him in the nose. Wow, that must be what Kurt was talking about.

Maybe he'd better start with a garbage bag…


End file.
